


Keepers at Home

by GamblingDementor



Series: Out of Oz on the farm [4]
Category: The Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathtubs, F/F, Farmers au, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingDementor/pseuds/GamblingDementor
Summary: A two people's paradise turns out to be less than that. A story of bath tubs, nosy crones, Animals and (re) found family.Part of my Farmers AU that Gregory Maguire refused to give us: Elphaba and Glinda ran away from Oz after graduation and became lesbian farmers in an oasis in the desert.





	1. The Bath

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of 4, the set up for this story! More to come.

It takes all of one bath for Glinda to understand Elphaba's mistrust for water.

 

There's a way their evenings run, a routine as familiar as breathing that they hardly steer from. As soon as the sun starts its descent and the desert sky turns to blues and oranges and purples, Glinda announces she'll wash herself and that Elphaba is more than welcome to join her. The bathtub is an impossibility of danger, of course, but the spectacle alone is a treat that Elphaba rarely passes on. They hold each other's entire undistracted attention in those moments at home, and especially at night time.

 

There's a price to living around each other at all times, of course, that makes the urge to take Elphie to bed slightly less pressing as time goes on. She'll never get fully used to it, the freedom to love Elphaba as much and as often as they please, but on some nights, they're just as happy talking and enjoying each other's presence, conversations well into the night until they're too tired to speak any word. Glinda still thinks back on the first few months of living on the farm, the journey here, when as often as not they would slack off on the work to listen to the fire burning inside them. How reckless and foolish they used to be, so ardently engrossed in the passionate chapter of their love story that they thought nothing else mattered in the entire world. And nothing did.

 

The flames have turned to embers, warm and comforting and safely protected. The next chapter of their lives is more intimate, less urgent. They were best friends already but sometimes Glinda feels they hardly knew each other before the life on the farm, not the way they do now. Their lives have completely bent themselves into each other and there is a comfort in just being near Elphaba and share an engaging conversation that is as strong than any other sort of endeavor. Of course, that’s not to say that their bed has turned cold from being unused. They just don’t cling to the fear of losing each other at any time and to not have the time to love each other enough. There’s all the time in the world. They use that time for other things as well.

 

Glinda has been soaking in warm suddy water for the longer part of the evening, making Elphie conversation. Though it is starting to get lukewarm by the minute, every splash and sway of the bath water feels like a massage on her poor tired body and she doesn’t want to go to bed already, not yet. The days are long, the years are short. They’ll be celebrating their sixth year on the farm next spring.

 

"Darling," Glinda purrs, her entire body submerged under the thick layer of suds but for her head, "Sometimes I truly feel for you."

 

Elphaba sits on her stool a safe distance from the tub, leaning her forearms on her lap, softness in her eyes, a glint of mirth.

 

“Sometimes only?” She asks, cocking a thin dark eyebrow. “I’d have thought feelings were rather a large part of this adventure.”

 

Glinda lets out an exhausted giggle, patting the bubbles with her hand, playing mindlessly. Elphie, dear Elphie who can’t abide any water, installed the plumbing system of their bathroom and Glinda made the soaps herself with the herbs and scents they grow out in the fields. Elphie built the home, Glinda takes care of it. Every bath, every night in their bed, every meal she cooks, every step she takes is fueled with the sum of their work and love. Her feelings are constant and plenty.

 

“I meant a specific sort of compassion," she explains, sighing into the warmth. "I wish you could sink into a hot bath harmlessly. There’s nothing quite like it.”

 

Elphaba’s expression sours for a split second, briefly distorted by fear and repulsion before she hides it behind a cheeky smile.

 

“That, I can only trust you with. I do enjoy the view.”

 

Glinda smiles, which turns into a deep yawn. She blinks a few times, surprised by her own exhaustion.

 

“I think your bath has run its course for the night, my dear.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Glinda replies, her voice already slurring despite herself. “I’ll just rinse off my hair and I’ll be right out. You can go to bed, my love.”

 

Elphie stands, but doesn’t leave the room. Instead she fetches the towels from the dresser, ready to cautiously wrap them snug around Glinda when she steps out of the tub. Glinda smiles softly. Always serviceable, always willing to make Glinda’s life easier, more comfortable. She pulls the plug off the bottom of the tub and turns the tap to rinse herself off.

 

An explosion of freezing cold water splashes around the small room. Elphaba groans and hisses in pain, holding up the towel as a shield of protection, her back arching like a feral cat.

 

“What in… Turn it off!”

 

Glinda obliges immediately. The tap creaks in disagreement and Elphaba glares at it. She’s rubbing her cheeks vehemently where the splashes hit, pulls off the long nightgown she was wearing that got splattered by the water, throws it away moodily, already rummaging the dresser for a fresh one. At least one of them is in luck that it is winter. She was wearing long sleeves. Glinda is wearing nothing at all and feels herself getting cooler. When Elphaba’s face emerges from the thick hemp, it melts with worry. Hopping the few steps to the tub, she all but shoves the towel into Glinda’s face, gesturing her to stand up and out of the bath.

 

“Oh my darling,” she gets herself all fussy, trying to pat dry all of Glinda’s body while avoiding any liquid on herself. A towel is draped around her still soapy hair, another rubs off her feet, soon putting on slippers to keep them warm. “My love, my pet, look how cold you’ll get.”

 

Glinda was worrying about water touching Elphaba’s skin, but the way Elphaba dotes on her, takes as great care of her as an ama would have, Glinda figures the harm must not have been deadly. She lets herself be coddled and with Elphie rubbing her body dry, holding her close, she forgets about the cold water, about the terrible startle. Elphaba brushes her damp hair so carefully − and admittedly immense caution to avoid any contact with herself. Glinda loves her for it, for risking her own skin only for Glinda’s comfort. Her hair is tied in two neat braids that Elphaba brings around the crown of her head and ties them loosely for the night.

 

“There. My very own Saint Galinda. Shall we get you to sleep?"

 

Nestled into Elphaba's embrace in their little bed, Glinda finds that even a night that announced itself ruined can be saved with enough tenderness and care. Elphaba's fingers trace mindless circles in the small of her back. Her face tucked into Elphie's neck, Glinda feels like she can breathe and rest. She falls asleep feeling as completely at peace as she could.

 

"It's the plumbing," Elphaba announces the next day after a thorough examination of the bathtub.

 

She has cut the water supply from the source on their land that provides for their fields and household. All morning, she's been busy in the bathroom and Glinda has been watching her, patting her back gently, asking to assist her, bringing her refreshments. Elphaba has been taking the drinks but refusing to let Glinda handle the work. There's a way these things are done.

 

"Yes," Glinda says, unsure what to do or where to put herself. She sits tentatively on the rim of the tub and waits for further explanation.

 

Elphaba grabs the glass of pomegranate juice she brought her and takes a few deep gulps before speaking again. She's been unbuilding and bringing back together the entire bathroom installation all morning and sweat is pearling at her forehead. Glinda pulls onto her hand to make Elphaba sit down next to her and rubs it off with a cloth.

 

"I won't bore you with the details, darling," Elphie says, closing her eyes at the touch. Glinda puts down the wash cloth but keeps the caress for Elphaba's sake. "A part broke down somehow and a few more were damaged. I think I can find a way to stop the splashing, I'm not sure about the heating. I'm not sure about a bath of cold water, though…"

 

"Well, what are we going to do?"

 

Elphie opens a mischievous eye, peeking at Glinda through the fingers still stroking her forehead and cheeks.

 

"You'll wash in the kitchen, I suppose, if you want your water heated. There's always the stove. I don't imagine you'll want to carry buckets of water upstairs and I dare not."

 

Indeed, this proximity to water is too much of a risk for Elphaba. For a farmer, she manages to avoid any contact with water only through thorough planning. Their fields are a wonder of irrigation and when their crops do need to be watered in extra, Glinda has named herself volunteer for the task. It helps her feel useful and Elphaba safe. She’s not certain she would feel either of those things washing up in a bucket in the kitchen, or in the sink.

 

"Is there no way to repair this at all?”

 

“Without the missing part, I’m afraid I couldn’t,” Elphaba sighs. “I know what it looks like, but making it myself, something metallic… I just don’t have the means.”

 

"Oh…"

 

It's a whole new getting used to this different level of comfort. Glinda is not too fond of it. The first washing up in the kitchen sink feels much too exposed, even in the desert with no other living soul but Elphaba − and her darling Elphie giving her every privacy she never bothered with in the bathroom. The next day is easier, the one after that even more so and it only takes a week or two to become a routine they can fiddle with and make the best of. It's harder to look enticing standing by the sink than lounging in the tub but over time, Glinda has found that enticing Elphaba is a very simple matter indeed. Still, at the end of a very long day, when the toil has been hard on both of them and every muscle of her body aches, what she wouldn't give for a hot foaming bath…

 

"Elphie…"

 

Elphaba looks up from the notebook she's been filling, some record of what was planted in their field, where and when, something to do with moon cycles that she tried to explain to Glinda without much success − or admittedly interest. Glinda has been busy all day at weaving linen, a necessity with Elphaba ripping trousers much too easily out there at work, using them up till the last seam tears. It's exhausting work, what with the big loom that took so long to design and install (though that part was Elphaba's work only) and much more to learn how to use adequately. She rubs sweat off her forehead and craves warm water cradling her tired body.

 

"Did you want something?" Elphaba asks.

 

Glinda pulls back from the loom, satisfied with the length of her day's work. Outside, the sun is starting to turn the reddish orange of the evening. It will be time to eat, to have pleasant conversation, and to wash up. No matter how pleasant the conversation and how promising it will be to have Elphaba's eyes on her, she's not looking forward to the last part like she used to.

 

"I… Well, that is…"

 

Elphaba puts down her quill, staring at her with interest.

 

"I was meaning to ask… But of course you have no obligation to…"

 

A wicked smile starts to curl at the corner of Elphaba's mouth.

 

"Why, my dear Glinda, what ever could your imaginative mind have come up with? I am all ears."

 

Glinda's cheeks are burning up, all the more so with that naughty wink Elphaba gives her. She near enough wants to cover her face with the fabric she worked so hard on all day, or to skip dinner altogether and take the sassy thing to bed.

 

"It's nothing like that." She thinks of bubbles across her chest, a sponge slowly dragged against exposed skin in temptation. "Well, not until later anyways. No, this is about the tub."

 

The smile disappears, Elphaba's face falling subdued. She toys with the corner of her page.

 

"My dear, I thought we had settled the issue already. There's no way."

 

Glinda's stomach knots. Five years with hardly any argument between the two of them. Is this the hill she will die on? The prissy luxury of a working bathtub? She looks down.

 

"I had been wondering if there would be any way to make the trip to Munchkinland and…"

 

"To Munchkinland?!" Elphaba breathes, calms herself down. How different she is from her former self. The oasis has soothed her like the caress of fingertips across the cheek. "Glinda, surely you can understand… This is home, this is our land, there is no leaving it."

 

Glinda shrugs, trying to sound more casual about it than she actually feels.

 

"I wasn't thinking about _leaving_ ," she says, "Only a short hop to the closest city in Oz to try and fetch the broken part."

 

She feels selfish as she says it, like the formal little girl in love with herself she used to be that would never have suffered to be afflicted with such a dreadful situation as a house without a bath. Elphaba doesn't point it out, but Glinda sees the former iteration of herself as vividly as if it was sitting right next to her. She shudders.

 

"No, you're right, I'll just… I'll have to…"

 

"It's not that I don't want to fix it," Elphaba says, walking the few steps to hold Glinda's hand − there hasn't been much of a distance between them for five years. "I just don't see a situation where I could. It's at least a fortnight to Munchkinland, probably more. We have no money. I can't leave the farm to you on your own, you'd be drowning in the work and I'd be terrified for your safety here all alone. I can't take you with me, we'd find the farm in shambles when we come back, it's a constant piece of work. I can't let you go on your own, you wouldn't know the piece to buy and I would die for worrying too much. Glinda, my sweet, do you see that we cannot find a way?"

 

Elphaba's hands are stroking her arms, the look she gives her so pained that it makes Glinda ache with the guilt of causing it. Pouting, she nods.

 

"We promised each other we would make a life here," Elphaba says as kindly as she can for a chastising. "I know I got you used to greater comfort than what we have now and for that, I apologize. But I won't gamble on your safety, not even for that."

 

Something must have shown on Glinda's face. Elphaba's long thin hands hold her to press kisses against her mouth that almost make her forget the complaint she had. Comforted and cared for, Glinda sighs amorously into the kiss, covering Elphaba's hands with her own.

 

"I love you," she says, a truth reigning over her entire lifespan and no less true today than before the incident.

 

"And I love you," Elphaba replies, her thumb stroking Glinda's cheek, "Which is why I must stay here with you."

 

Glinda nods and the matter is settled. There is dinner to make tonight and all other nights and the work, while completely within her abilities, is ever present on the farm. She could not handle two people's share of it. She could not handle being away from Elphaba. In the following days, Elphaba's attentions are renewed in intensity and kindness, ever a good word to say, an extra compliment to pay, a caress to give. Glinda, though guilt is still clutching her, basks in the tenderness. Every day, the embarrassing bath in the kitchen sink has a happy ending where she finds herself wrapped up in strong green arms, hauled onto a counter top or into linen sheets for a moment of bliss and she knows how much Elphaba is trying to make her forget about the loss of a minor bit of comfort. Every day, it works a little bit more. The premise of their settling here was a long and happy life together. Every day, she wakes up and lives the day and falls asleep utterly and completely in love with Elphaba and she supposes that must be more than enough.

 


	2. The Minder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange and unexpected arrival brings its share of surprises on the farm.

They’re in the kitchen when the silhouette appears in the distance. Elphaba spots it first, of course. She’s always on the lookout, even when she’s quiet, especially when she’s quiet. She’s been reading a book on Quadling flora while Glinda cans the remaining of the fall harvests, but her eyes have been wandering. First on Glinda, who pretended not to catch the irreverent glances thrown her way, storing them away with as much love and care as she does their pumpkins and yams and grapes. Then out the window and she stands up, her ears perking up like a watchdog, eyes squinting at some inscrutable detail on the horizon of their desert.

“Dear, what’s the m…”

Elphaba stops her with a hand. Glinda knows she ought to be looking at the object of Elphaba’s icy stare, but even in the risk of peril or surprise coming their way, she cannot stop her heart from being swayed by the simple handsomeness of the woman who shares her life. Eyes impossibly thin with a wary glare, mouth barely open revealing a hint of the pink, the sharp line of her eyebrows knitted with mistrust, she is the picture of what Glinda’s soul has longed for, even after years of spending every single day at her side. In those moments, Glinda knows for certain that the novelty of their relationship has not worn off, or rather has turned into a bond so strong it could never be doubted. Nothing and no one could ever come between them. Whatever is in the distance, Elphaba will handle it for them.

“It couldn’t be…” Elphaba whispers wistfully.

Before Glinda can demand a clearer explanation, Elphaba is out the front door, almost falling down the few steps of the porch in her haste. Her arms are batting in the air as she runs and sprints faster than Glinda has ever seen her, or indeed anyone else, run towards any goal. She looks like a scarecrow come alive.

“YOU OLD GOOF!” she shouts and Glinda swears she could cut through the thickness of fondness she hears her affected with. “YOU IMPOSSIBLE OLD CRONE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Glinda, who in the meantime has gotten herself to the porch, leaning on the banister with a hand to shade her eyes from the sun as she spies in the distance the object of Elphaba’s crisis, gasps when the form finally comes into her vision.

“IT’S NANNY!” Elphaba calls out to Glinda, waving her arms restlessly in such a cheerful humor that Glinda wants to hold the silly thing tight against her to absorb all her excitement. “GLINDA, NANNY’S HERE! IT’S NANNY!”

A little cluster of joy and sunshine approaches the home. Perched atop a donkey, the satchels at its flanks bursting at the seams, the old minder is chattering with Elphaba like they last parted the day before instead of the five years it has been. A large brown dog is running in circles around them. Glinda rubs her eyes in disbelief, but the strange procession is still right there when she opens them again.

“My dear, we must give Nanny some tea! Are there biscuits? Nanny, I’m sorry, we don’t have cream. Do you want to take a nap first?”

“Nanny is only a bit tired, froggie, and she will take whatever you serve. Glinda, come here and give me a kiss.”

Elphaba helps Nanny down the donkey, flattering his neck with a gentle hand once Nanny is safely standing on her own two feet. The dog barks excitedly. Glinda joins them, letting Nanny hug her and giving her a scratchy wet kiss on each cheek. She looks older. Not ancient, or not as old as she claims to be, but the five years without her have only deeper creased the wrinkles of her friendly face and her hand is unsteady against Glinda’s arm as they walk up the few steps to the inside of the house. Elphaba takes it upon herself to unload everything from the donkey’s back, running everywhere to put them away safe and soundly one by one. The dog follows her every step, panting happily.

Nanny makes herself comfortable in the kitchen and Glinda realizes they're one chair too short to accommodate the three of them at the same time. For the time present, with Elphaba fretting about, it makes little difference. Glinda is almost grateful for the whistling of the kettle on the stove. It's been five years since she's spoken to another person than Elphaba. She used to be so adept at conversation, made an art of it, a skill to be developed. Now, she makes conversation only when she has something to say − which with Elphaba is quite often − but she's not quite sure what she might tell Nanny. What should one say to someone they thought they had left behind forever?

"Two spoonfuls of sugar, is it, Nanny?"

"If you please, dearie," Nanny nods and takes the cup Glinda puts down in front of her. She sips it like nothing's amiss, like she was due a visit even further north in the desert and their farm was a stop on the way. Outside, she hears Elphaba rambling on excitedly. She supposes that the dog has met Killyjoy − Elphaba has always been the kind to talk to dogs.

"Nanny…" she asks and pauses to find a polite way to speak her mind. "Nanny, how did you find your way here?"

Nanny grimaces and gestures dismissively.

"With difficulty," she says, taking a large sip of tea between what she has to say. "Almost thought I'd lose my way, with that yappy thing over there distracting me…"

At that, Elphaba barges into the kitchen once again, the dog at her heels.

"He's a Donkey!" She cries out. "Nanny, you never said you came here on a Donkey."

"And don't I know it," Nanny shakes her head. "It wouldn't stop blabbering through the desert. Got him right out of Nest Hardings, they said there was none as sturdy as that beast. How long was it, twelve days? Twenty? Not one moment of silence. I thought I'd have to strangle it in its sleep, but you know Nanny couldn't hurt a fly, or a donkey."

If it weren't for Elphaba's buzzing glee at the presence of the old minder, Glinda is certain she might have burst in a fit of anger, but a soft hand in the crook of her elbow, a rubbing touch on the back and she is soothed.

"Well, _he_ ," she says pointedly, "would like a bucket of water and whatever fresh produce we have. Glinda, my dear, would you? I wish to speak to Nanny."

Glinda obliges her, of course. Outside, the Donkey has found refuge in the shade of the big maple tree in front of their cottage. She tries to smile. Some water spills over the edge of the bucket as she puts it down onto the ground heavily. The thirsty dirt sips it up instantly, leaving a dark mark that a few bugs flutter around. This winter has been a dry one.

"Here you are…" She says tentatively, not quite sure how to address the Animal in front of her. Sir doesn't feel quite right. "Here's the water. I brought carrots and yams, I hope it'll be…"

"Carrots?" The Donkey perks up. His voice sounds like a caricature from the kind of newspapers Elphaba used to read. Glinda sees his face more clearly now. There's laughter in his large brown eyes, she notices, bursting with good cheer and she can well imagine him talking for days on end in the desert just like Nanny described. Fur makes a funny pattern around one of his eyes, like a permanent black eye. She smiles more naturally.

"Yes," she says, presenting a bowl she filled up with whatever fresh and seasonal she could find in the pantry. "I'm told you carried Nanny all the way here from Munchkinland."

The Donkey, who was diving almost his entire head in the bucket of water, looks at her with what looks like a proud grin. Glinda notes that this may just be the first time she has ever talked to a Donkey. In fact, she knows for certain that it is.

"Sure did, ma'am," he says with as much of a nod as a Donkey could give. "Very stubborn, that one, I thought we'd gotten lost half a hundred times but she just kept telling me that up north was where she wanted to go. Said she was looking for some wicked thing and her fair lady." He cocks a thick brow mischievously. "Which one are you?"

Glinda laughs. Here in their little paradize, she had never expected anybody to find them, but of all the people who could, Nanny would certainly top the list. In her own overbearing, caring, bullying way, Nanny always fell soft for Elphaba and by extension, for Glinda. She is not unhappy to see her again. Not really.

"Mister… How should I call you?"

"Call me, huh? How kind of you to ask." The Donkey thinks for a few breaths. "I haven't been called by my name in a long time, little lady. My mother called me Fra. I was born in Gillikin, you know? My master at the farm was so proud of that, a fancy little Gillikinese Ass. Bought me real young, freshly weaned, a real rump. But you must be from Gillikin too, mustn't you? I see it now, it's the hair, and the skin. You don't see many like you in Munchkinland."

Fra talks like he's been kept silent for ages. Glinda lets him. There is a good humor to his manners of speaking and besides, she thinks, Elphaba and Nanny must have quite a lot to catch up with where she would not be needed.

"Glinda of the Arduennas of the Uplands," she introduces herself and doesn't even remember the last time she claimed her full name. "From Frottica in the Pertha Hills. Mr Fra, I'm afraid I don't know where to accommodate you. We don't have cattle on the farm. Would you come inside?"

Fra munches on a chunk of yam, his hind legs down on the ground. He looks a bit like a cat guarding something.

"No cattle, heh? And who drags the harrow? The carriage if you need travel?"

"I'm afraid we don't travel," Glinda explains. "And as for farming, my… my friend has been plowing the fields on her own."

A glance is thrown her way that cuts right through her.

"So she has," the Donkey says evenly. "Don't want no trouble, ma'am, but I have been traveling with that Nanny of yours for the past two weeks and she has said a few words to me of this situation. Don't think it's a matter of friendship to run away from your land together and not come back for years."

 _Not go back ever_ , Glinda thinks with determination, but her hands grab her apron and twirl it in her unease. She never thought she would have to proclaim the nature of her bond with Elphaba to a Donkey, not here or anywhere.

"This is what Nanny said?"

Fra nods his strange Donkey nod again, leaning to get himself another carrot.

"As I've said, don't want no trouble. I'll sleep outside, if you please." He lies down. "In fact, I could go for a nap right now."

Before she can ask for more, the Donkey closes his eyes and, if the sounds of light snoring are genuine or faked, Glinda cannot tell the difference. Inside the home, Elphaba is leaning so far into the table to talk to Nanny that Glinda fears she might topple it over. She lights up even more when she notices Glinda has come back.

"Glinda," she says very fast and excited, "My love, Nanny was just telling me that Nessa has been able to walk upright as of recent with the help of magical shoes. And Boq and Milla have had two children."

"How delightful," she replies with a polite smile. How quickly it comes back to her features, even after years of only smiling in earnest when she wished to. She wishes it were harder.

"You won't believe what Nanny just went through! Nanny, you must tell her everything like you told me."

It's a long story, though Elphaba overhyped how interesting the details of it were and only realizes half way through the retelling that Glinda has no seat. She pulls her onto her lap despite much protestation. Glinda, who always longed for her love to Elphaba to be as open as it could, finds that she feels very much exposed once it is for others to see. In an odd way, she always expected that she would want the world to know about it when the world would be entirely contained and limited between the two of them. Three is a crowd. As Elphaba chimes into Nanny's story constantly, she also holds Glinda close against herself, a protective arm around her waist that Glinda clings onto, and Glinda remembers Fra's words. So Nanny knew all this time. How strange.

"And then I bit the snake back and saved this thing right here," Nanny says, gesturing to the dog who pants excitedly, drooling all over Glinda's apron. Glinda was never much of a dog lover. “But let’s talk no more of this. Now that Nanny has her two precious with her, she isn’t sure whether to hug them or spank them. What in sweet Lurline’s name got into you to disappear like that?”

There’s something to Elphaba’s manner of holding herself, of expressing herself, that occurred the minute she caught sight of the old lady and hasn’t left her since. She looks younger − though Glinda knows that, at twenty-five, they still have a lifetime ahead of them − and more subdued, so entranced in the presence of her old minder that she loses all her cheeky petulance.

"Nanny," she says apologetically, grabbing her hand, "We haven't disappeared. You can see us right here plain as day."

"Oh, you've always been the clever tongue, haven't you? All your father's brains with your poor mother's defiance. She ran away from home too, you know that."

"This is nothing like what Melena did," Elphaba retorts."She hated Colwen Grounds, she hated being a Thropp, she…"

"Oh, and you don't? Froggie, don't lie to your Nanny, she knows many tricks that you don't."

In her previous life, Elphaba might have turned dark with anger and protested long and vehement against Nanny's accusations. She's a different person than she was. Indeed, who could ever let fury and disdain get to their heart in such a peaceful place? Though less marked than Glinda's transformation from the former Galinda, Elphaba has become a softer version of the gloomy teenager Glinda fell in love with and at Nanny's words, she keeps her head about her and explains herself in a way Glinda never could. She admires her for it, for the calm and clear cut way of her speaking, for how unashamed she defends their situation.

The journey here was an act of rebellion on both their parts, and perhaps even more so for Glinda who never thought to go off the rails like Elphaba made it her entire life's business to, but in the moment and the years that have followed, Glinda has never once regretted even an instant of it. Confronted with the past, however, she has no clue as to how defend their whole current existence and the manner of how it came to happen. She is most grateful that Elphaba, dear Elphaba with her clever words, is there to complement her in this instance as she has always been, as she will always be.

"Nanny," Elphaba says calmly, "There is a distinction you must understand. Mama ran from Colwen Grounds to avoid the life that awaited her and because Frex was the first to offer to take her away instead of coveting her position. This is nothing like what I have done with Glinda."

Nanny huffs, ostensibly sipping her tea. At her feet, the dog she brought is still panting too loud, its tail batting against Glinda's leg uncomfortably.

"We didn't disappear, we didn't run away from anything." She squeezes Glinda's hand. "We ran into our new life with each other and that's all there is to it."

"That's all well and sentimental," Nanny says, "But you forgot about your Nanny. I was worried sick. Five years, it took me to track you down. That's a very long time, dearies."

Elphaba has the audacity of looking subdued, as if the isolation from everyone they knew was not an intrinsic part of the plan since its very inspiration. As if their desire to be together wasn't intimately tied to a need to be on their own. Five years of only each other was a long time, but now that it has come to an end, it seems like it passed like a breeze before the outside world caught up.

"Nanny, you're right, of course," she says. "I'm very sorry. You can stay here for as long as you want."

If she had been drinking, Glinda might have spat out her tea in astonishment. In the absence of any such thing, her hand clutches the end of the table so hard her knuckles crack and she accidentally kicks Elphaba in the shin. The reply is a gentle pat on the arm from Elphaba, absent-minded.

"Oh, Nanny will make herself useful, for sure," Nanny says and the way she tilts her head makes Glinda hear a silent suggestion that there is indeed a lot of help to be handed out on their homestead. An implication she could have done without. She hides her frown and gets up to serve another round of tea.

Later that night, after much debate on where Nanny should sleep, an argument won by the old lady herself who settles on the couch downstairs between her dog (whom Glinda learns is a dog indeed, named Solitude, and not a Dog despite Elphaba's attempts at communication) and their Killyjoy, Glinda and Elphaba are laying in bed. Elphaba is fretting, her leg bouncing nervously until Glinda traps it between hers.

"Your thoughts, darling?"

Elphaba sighs deeply, a punctuation mark at the end of the endless, novel-length sentence that was today. Hours and hours of Nanny offering a trickle of subtle but unrequested advice on reorganizing a kitchen, running a home, as if Glinda had not been doing exactly that for years. All under good intentions, of course, but it doesn't always take ill intent to upset someone. Just the new presence where there used to be no one else is much already. She smiles into Elphaba's shoulder. So she is not the only one happy to see the day finally come to an end.

"I did not expect this kind of day when I woke up," Elphaba notes, whispering. The walls inside the home are not thick. She tucks Glinda closer. "I don't know that I ever expected this at all."

"Did you… Did you want it to happen?"

Elphaba takes her sweet time to reply, fingers gently scratching at Glinda's shoulder while she thinks on the question. She drops a kiss on the crown of Glinda's head before answering.

"I don't think I did," she replies. "But now that she's here, I can't say I regret her presence either. I… I like Nanny, always have. I missed her more than I knew."

That, Glinda has noticed. All day, Elphaba was nothing but a puppy at Nanny's beck and call. As she couldn't possibly reproach that in good conscience, Glinda says nothing.

"I suppose that of all people I've known, Nanny would be the most likely to find us. She's always been the observant one. Melena said she was a bloodhound for disobedience."

Glinda twirls a tendril of black hair between her fingers. It's always a reassurance, night spun into hair, a curtain of unbending will that Glinda pokes at and plays with as she pleases. No matter what happens, at the end of the day, there'll always be the embrace of green arms around her and shiny black eyes and long black hair.

"Disobedience…" She drops the hair, her hand finding its mate with Elphaba's, fingers entwining. "I liked what you said. How we never ran _away_." Green skin soft in its roughness under her lips, hands worked hard, calloused by toil on the fields. She loves those hands and the handsome person they belong to. "It's a shame, really, that we hardly reflect on the journey taken until someone reproaches us for it."

"Philosophical," Elphaba ponders, "I like that from you."

"I suppose forcing me into unwilling debate time after time gave me a taste for it," Glinda replies. "Still, the feat is different pointed out than it was experienced. Will she stay mad at us?"

"For the rest of her ancient life, I'm afraid." A pause as she rearranges herself against Glinda in their usual sleeping position. "That's a curse for the morrow, my sweet."

The following morning, Glinda sets the table for three. A stool is borrowed from another part of the home for Elphaba. Her bony behind has barely sat itself down, not even the first spoonful of porridge eaten that she starts an unprompted argumentation.

"Nanny, you simply cannot sleep on the couch forever."

Nanny, who was petting Killyjoy, perks up and waves a dismissive shaking hand.

"You underestimate your Nanny, little lizard. She can sleep on as hard as surface as anything. The couch is plenty enough."

"But it's not," Elphaba says, waving her spoon through the air ; Glinda gently grabs the arm and pulls it down to avoid a porridge layer all over her kitchen floor. "I've thought about it all night."

"You have?" Glinda frowns.

Elphaba is not quite looking at her when she replies, but the sudden softness of her voice indicates how much she knows her words might affect Glinda.

"I'll build you a room. Or even maybe a house, I don't know yet. With a real bed. And something for the Donkey as well."

Glinda hesitates but doesn't dare to ask what she knows must be coming.

"I'll buy supplies for that in Munchkinland."

Her heart sinks deep in her chest, a knot at her throat which she tries to cough away − to no avail. Nanny, if she has noticed her discomfort, shows no sign that she has. Her focus is rather on Elphaba. She squints her eyes quizzically, but it is Glinda whom Elphaba then tries to convince, her hands reaching for hers, stroking the palms with her thumbs.

"Surely you agree, my dear, that Nanny ought to be accommodated properly? Isn't that what she deserves?"

Reluctantly, Glinda gives a nod. One of the cat licks from her untouched plate and Nanny shoos it off the table.

"And I am quite certain that in Munchkinland, I will also find the missing piece to the broken tub."

She attempts a smile that Glinda reluctantly reciprocates.

"I suppose I would enjoy a bath again."

“I know we set ourselves for a life here forever,” Elphaba says, her voice low so as to hide her emotion, maybe from Nanny herself, “and I assure you that this trip would be nothing to endanger that. I will be back before you know it. It’ll be just a while. My mind would be at peace if I can leave you here with someone for company.”

“And how much is a while, then?”

“That, I cannot say. Can you trust me?”

She brings Glinda’s hands to her lips, pressing an apologetic kiss that only makes Glinda crave her presence more before she has even left − how she would express that longing if Nanny weren’t here. But then, Elphaba would never leave if Nanny weren’t here.

“I have to,” she sighs. “Yes, yes I can trust you.”

For all Glinda’s concern, at the very least Elphaba gives her a few days’ time. Provisions are made, not just in food and water but in affection and tender moments for her to keep in her memories when there will be a desert between them. If Nanny knows anything of the silent angst of their mournful last few nights together, then she has the decency of saying no word about it. The day comes all too soon of Elphaba’s departure, packed with as much as she could possibly carry through the desert, and a bit more besides. She takes the dogs, imparting some of her burden to them, the tiktok automate that was the tractor to their carriage of supplies on the way here a whole new life ago, but leaves the Donkey to rest at the farm. Glinda is grateful for another sentient presence than the grumpy Cat and the old lady.

“My dear… We will see each other again, won’t we?”

Elphaba’s kiss has never tasted so sweet and so strong. Glinda seeps every last drop of her affection before the separation and Nanny, though her embrace to the green girl is tight and not without emotion, lets Glinda more than her fair share of Elphaba’s attention. Finally, tearfully, it’s time for her to leave. Glinda watches the silhouette in the distance as she had spotted Nanny’s just a short week ago at her arrival. Soon she can only spot the dark stain of her shadow against the sand and sooner still, nothing at all. She stares in the distance all the same for a very long while before shaking herself off it. She sits at the kitchen table much of that day, her heart too heavy to do anything.

The first night, Glinda feels Elphaba's absence like a shroud of coldness.

"What's that you're doing, duckie?" Nanny inquires, her nose into Glinda's every gesture and thought.

A broom in hand, hand at her hip, Nanny wants herself the new master of the house. Glinda keeps her business her own. One of the cats rubs against her calf and she leans down to scratch its ears.

"I'm loading the oven fire so that the house stays warm for the night, Nanny," she replies calmly. _As you can well see_ , she doesn't add.

"In the middle of the desert?"

Glinda closes the small metal gate to trap in the heat. In the several years living on the farm, she could probably count on her own fingers the times Elphaba and her thought it needed to light a fire against the cold. Nanny wasn't there for any of those times. She hasn't been there for much at all. She doesn't know the running of this house.

"It's winter. I have a chill," Glinda says. She stands back up, grabbing the cat with her, nuzzling into the thick fur. "Will you be alright down here on your own? I feel tired, I must rest."

"For certain," Nanny nods. "Say, do you have a fan? Nanny might burn up in so much warmth."

The bedroom is impossibly empty when Glinda turns in, followed by three of the cats. In the absence of Elphaba, they make a flock around her. She's not sure whether they need the support, or her. One of them meows plaintively, jumping on the bed, presenting its neck for Glinda to scratch. She obliges, pulls him onto her chest as she flops down onto the cold bed that seems much too large tonight.

"Oh, Elphie," she sighs. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please, PLEASE leave a comment if you've read this. You don't need an AO3 account for that.


End file.
